Page 93 of Winter

Raffaelo turned to her, his eyes dark. “It’s our father, Inca. Our father is here.”

Belinda felta hand under her elbow and Knox Westerwick pulled her into an alleyway. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Irritated, she wrenched her arm out of his grip. “It’s none of your concern, Knox.”

“It is if you’re messing with my friend’s head.”

Belinda took out a cigarette and lit it. “I’m doing no such thing. I’m merely reaching out to an old friend.”

Knox snorted. “Spare me the bullshit.”

Belinda studied him. “Please don’t tell me you’ve gone soft on me, Knox. You were the only other interesting person in this shithole of a town.”

Knox sneered at her. “You’re not interesting, Belinda; you’re what you always were. A stone-cold bitch.”

Belinda smiled coldly. “But, apart from that whore who is in Italy, practically the only woman left alive. At least, of your friends.”

She knew it was a low blow, and she watched Knox’s expression shut down.

“You’re mistaken, Belinda. We were never friends.”

She watched him walk away and smiled to herself.

Inca stayedout of the way while Tommaso and Raffaelo dealt with their father. Raffaelo came to tell her that his father was insisting on staying at the villa for a couple of weeks and they’d agreed, on the condition that his security team left. He agreed—if he could keep his private secretary with him, an obsequious man called Giuliano who looked more a Mafia heavy than a secretary.

“After all,” Edgar had told his sons. “This houseismine.”

Inca was introduced to him briefly, and in those moments, she formed an opinion of him that wasn’t positive. He was handsome and tall, like his sons, but he had none of their warmth or joy. Instead, his dark eyes were small and piercing and the way he smiled at her, half-mocking, half-dismissive, didn’t make her want to know him any better.

Instead, she and Raffaelo concentrated on their plans to open a teahouse and spent a great deal of time in the city. Tommaso accompanied them when he could, but his own work seemed to be keeping him busy.

Inca had her own room; they all thought it best while Edgar was there, but Raffaelo made sure it had a working lock, and Inca didn’t fail to lock it at night. Edgar made her uneasy; the way his eyes would rake over her body made her feel nauseous.

She managed to escape his presence mostly, but one day, just by chance, he managed to corner her in the garden.

Inca had found a little quiet place where she could curl up with a book, but he came upon it, and Inca couldn’t see a way to politely excuse herself as he sat down beside her.

“You have certainly made my son very happy,” he began, his tone pleasant.

“Tommaso’s a wonderful man,” she said carefully, edging away from him on the seat. Edgar laughed.

“Of course he is.Tommaso…”

Inca flushed. Did he know? How could he? They had been so careful. “Both of your sons are a credit,” she said, not being able to help the snark she felt.

To their mother, asshole, not you.

Edgar smiled at her coldly; she saw her barb had hit home. “And how about your family, Inca? I’m sorry to hear about your mother—your adoptive mother, I mean.”

She stiffened. “Thank you.”

“Your birth family is interesting, of course.”

Inca’s heart froze. “Not really.”

Edgar feigned surprise. “Really? I would callmurderinteresting.”

Inca swallowed; she made to stand, but Edgar’s hand shot out and pulled her down again. “My family is none of your business, Mr. Winter.”